Girl on Fire
by Phoenix Refrain
Summary: My version of "Real or not real?"


**Happy Valentine's!**

**My version of "Real or not real?"**

**_"But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips. On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway."_**

**_Mockingjay pg 388._**

It's been raining all day. I stand in front of my window, and look out as sheets of rain fall down. It's early spring again. Its days like today that make me remember everything that has happened. I rub my arms as I shiver, but Peeta pulls me to him. "What are you thinking about?"

But I don't answer him. Was it only seven or eight years ago that I was standing in a rain just like this when he gave me that bread? I can still feel it soaking my father's hunting jacket; I can feel the despair that was creeping into my skin. And it seems strange then, just as it does now that it's the dandelion that catches my eye. It's growing right beneath the leaves of the primrose bush—bent beneath the onslaught of rain but still standing. It reminds me vaguely of myself.

Maybe that's what possesses me to do it. I run out into the yard as Peeta calls behind me. My fingers close around the stem as I pluck it from the ground and run up on to the porch where Peeta is standing. "What are you doing?" He pulls me inside where I shiver and shake. I don't know how to explain myself or explain how dandelions and bread will always remind me of him.

I look into his blue eyes and I try to figure out how to explain myself to him. It's the same as trying to explain to him how I owe him. But, I realize it's not always been about owing. It's been about more than that for awhile now…longer than I care to admit. He pushes the hair out of my eyes and I feel heat spread over my skin where his fingers graze it. "You need to get out of these wet things; I don't want you to get sick."

But something inside of me is building as I look up into his eyes. Dimly, I hear him asking what's wrong as I look up at him. I pull away, not ready to deal with this yet and start my flight upstairs to my room.

I set the dandelion down on the table, but before I can turn around I feel his presence. I turn to him and he's walking to me in the dim lighting. "What's wrong Katniss?" His arms pull me to him.

I look up into his eyes, reminded of another time it rained—when we were in the cave together. This feels very much like how that felt. Not even the rain or light so much as the feeling. There's a warm pulsing in my chest as I answer him. My voice partially fails, "Nothing's wrong."

He pushes back another lock of my bangs and I pull my lips to his. I thought we'd never be like this—not for real. I told myself that it wasn't worth loving anyone after I lost Prim. But as the days went on, as the months fled away I found that not only did I want to see Peeta, I needed to. At first, he would hear my screams from next door and he'd come over and comfort me. We'd fight and he'd leave. I'd watch him have his episodes, and I'd be afraid of what would happen if he lost control—but he never did. We found out that if I talked to him, it made it easier. And soon we found out that the dreams still stayed away for the most part if we were in each other's arms.

More recently, I've been finding comfort in his lips. It's hard to break away, but I want to ask him something. "Peeta, what are you nightmares about now?"

He looks confused, "Just like they've always been, they're all about losing you."

"But…" I struggle trying to figure out how to ask. "Even when you weren't…yourself?"

Peeta kisses my forehead, "Especially then. I didn't understand it, how I could be afraid of you and afraid to live without you."

That intensity and hunger I felt before mounts in my body as I press my lips to his again. His fingers untangle my braid and the soggy strands fall down. He pulls his lips away and kisses my jaw line then shoulder collarbone, "Don't stop, Peeta."

But for a moment, he does. I've never asked him that before. I feel the heat rising in my cheeks but that fire spreads through my body still without restriction. The flames lick at my core, then into my chest, down into my fingertips and toes. I feel heat in parts of my body that have never felt heat before. It's an odd kind of ache that makes me cry out—it's not even unpleasant but just unfulfilled.

"What's wrong?" Peeta asks pulling away from my neck. But I kiss him again. Harder this time, my hands clutching his hair and pulling my body close to him. I can feel the heat in my body building until it feels like I'll burn up. But the more I burn, the closer to him I need to be. My fingers grip on to him, trying to force my body closer even though its not possible. His hands are pressing into my lower spine making me arch into him, and a small cry escapes my lips.

But he pulls himself away from me, and I'm panting. There's a confused expression on his face, and I can see that darkness is coming over him again. "Stay with me," I whisper as I make him sit down on the edge of the bed with me. His fingers grip the edge of the bed, "Stay with me, Peeta. I won't leave you. Never again." I press my lips to his, and the heat hasn't diminished—instead it's increased.

After a few minutes, his fingers let go of the side of the bed and wrap around me again. This time, I don't feel any need to stop. There is no games to stop us, there's nothing standing in our way. There is only hunger and fire. I fall back and he's on top of me. His lips don't leave my skin and he pauses to ask me, "Really?"

But my lips are back over his again, but he pushes me away and forces me to look in his eyes, "Really." It comes out softly as I arch back up to him. It doesn't take long to get off his shirt. My fingers trace the scars there as his face flushes. I see the marks of beatings he got, I see the marks of the arena, but most prominent is the burns. They overlap over his body, faded nearly away by now courtesy of the Capitol. But they'll never completely fade. My fingers trace the warped lines across his chest, and my lips press into the tender skin. I don't care if he's scarred—I'm scarred too. It makes me feel less subconscious about what he'll see of me.

His fingers play with the buttons of my wet shirt until they're all loose. He slides a hand in and around my bare waist. It feels so odd to have the still sensitive skin touched. It's not long before he has my shirt on the floor and he's marveling at my skin. His fingers trace the lines of scars, the intricate burns that I paid for our freedom and I'm not ashamed. The way he looks at me and the way he touches me makes me feel beautiful. The burning in the core of my being is stronger now than ever and the aching has now reached a painful level.

His fingers go down my arm and find the gash there from where Johanna dug out the tracker and then his lips float over and kiss it before he brings my hand then fingertips to his lips.

I'm shaking some when I pull off his pants. I'm nervous now, but the fire is unrelenting and I cannot avoid it's pull. He's gentle with my pants, and before long we're both there in our underwear. His lips float down over my chest as he slides the strap of my bra off. His lips trail down over the scars and his hands move against the unclothed skin of my breasts. I can't contain the moan that's tore from the death of my being.

All of these feelings he's evoking are so foreign and wonderful. This is not the type of fire that burned me, but a type of fire that can consume me for awhile but not destroy me. It's a hunger deeper than the mind can even process, more primal, and more needed than food or survival—the need to connect. The need to be loved just as I am. I realize what I've been denying since I once again found comfort in his arms—that this was always how it was going to end.

My eyes open as his lips devour more of my skin and I see the dandelion on the nightstand. Somehow it was a sign that it was always Peeta, in the darkest of times he was always there to find me. I wasn't the one saving the dandelion, it was the dandelion saving me.

We remove the last barriers of our clothing and our bodies touch skin against skin for the first time. The heat has built so much that it's unbearable the way it wracks my body. I explore his body as he explores mine—touching, caressing and drinking in every inch of his perfect scarred skin. It's not only Peeta that has an eye for beauty.

I give out a small cry as we finally connect. We fit together perfectly—and all of the loneliness I've ever felt melts away as my grey eyes find his blue ones. I feel his breath hot against my neck as he comes closer, the whispers of love and promises making the fire rage hotter. I wrap my leg around his as I feel him push into me, the thin sheen of sweat erupting on his back beneath my fingertips.

I have never felt this way with anyone but him. Never felt this urge to give every part of myself to someone else despite the consequence. Give into the fire, let it roar—my body craves it as I arch up into him. His lips trace slightly down and the ache that's been building in me can contain itself no longer. All of my body tingles—all the way to my fingertips and toes. There's this pleasure so great that it's almost pain as my eyes roll back and the world fades into black as I squeeze my eyes shut and hold in a scream. But it doesn't diminish, and I don't want it to even though it's hard to keep it going because it feels so good. But Peeta moves against me more as he calls my name, as his body glistens with sweat and pushes into me harder. "I love you," I hear him whisper it on my skin as his body shivers and a moan escapes his lips.

I feel my body responding again, the waves of pleasure pulling me under. The sound so faint, I can't even quite be sure if I said it or merely thought it. "I love you, too."

The fire diminishes as we untangle ourselves. His lips are buried in my hair as my face nestles against his bare chest. Nothing is touching but skin. The fire's not gone though; the embers glow as if at any moment it can be fanned again into the fierce inferno.

His lips slide down to my ear, and I hear the gentle question that I know he's wanted to ask for a long time—the one he wants to know the truth of. "You love me. Real or not real?"

I pull my face up to meet his. It's still just a whisper, but it's so loud in the stillness. "Real," and just like that the embers have been fanned into flames again.


End file.
